


Jam Jars

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Jam, M/M, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Never go to bed angry</i>, one of the Boss' therapists once told him. He can't remember if this is the one he accidentally set on fire, or the one he (also accidentally) talked into getting high with him only to discover they had some previously unknown and seriously unfortunate allergies. Might have been the one he very intentionally brained with her own paperweight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jam Jars

**Author's Note:**

> For [Zephiraz](http://zephiraz.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr, who made the mistake of reblogging this with a Matt/Boss tag, and then encouraging me:  
>  _Imagine your OTP just had a small argument. Afterwards, person A sneaks into the kitchen and tightens all of the jars so that when person B goes to make a snack, they need to ask person A to open the jar for them, which they do so while smirking cheekily, making person B blush and look away stubbornly._
> 
> I deviated a bit, because the image of the Boss and Asha bonding over jam jars and really petty vengeance was just too perfect. And, you know, Matt deserves this one.

Given the number of times Matt's tried to kill him in the past, the Boss would love to say that their first proper _domestic_ was a thing of epic proportions. Fireworks, explosions, him hiding out in the cargo bay with a shotgun while Matt hacked the giant robot to hunt him down and bash his skull in. Shouted insults, a few news scars for his collection, then marathon make-up sex to fix it all.

 

He needs to stop forgetting this isn't Johnny he's dealing with. His first fight with Matt is nothing short of _petty_.

 

"Looks like that last mission made Pierce happy. Pretty sure it was mostly an excuse to flex the old vocal chords together, just like old times. Guy knows how to have fun, I'll give him that."

 

"Hah!" Cross-legged on his ratty old couch, Matt jabs irritably at the wireless keyboard in his lap. Something flickers on the screen next to him. The Boss doesn't bother looking too closely. "Thankfully, I missed most of that part. The mute function is a true blessing sometimes."

 

And that's- that's just uncalled for. He wants it down on the record that it was not him who started this, whatever Matt may later claim, and that any and all forms of retaliation were _justified_. "You did _not_ fucking mute 'Opposites Attract'. No way."

 

"I'm too attached to my eardrums to inflict that god-awful racket on them. Not all of us are tone deaf, you know."

 

" _Tone deaf???_ "

 

Matt has the nerve to look up at him with an honest-to-god pitying expression. "Do you even hear yourselves? I could mix a bag of yowling cats to bloody _Dubstep_ and it would still be a higher quality of music."

 

" _You_ are going to regret that, kid." He clenches his fists, and Matt starts inching back on the couch. There's no apology forthcoming, though. "You crossed a line, and I'm not showing you _any_ fucking mercy, you hear me? Watch your back." The spaceship doors won't slam, but he's pretty sure he still makes enough of a dramatic exit that Matt will come running after him to beg for mercy. Any second now.

 

It doesn't happen.

 

_Never go to bed angry_ , one of the Boss' therapists once told him. He can't remember if this is the one he accidentally set on fire, or the one he (also accidentally) talked into getting high with him only to discover they had some previously unknown and seriously unfortunate allergies. Might have been the one he very intentionally brained with her own paperweight. Fucking shrinks, man. What can you do?

 

So yeah, he goes to bed mad and Pierce ends up sharing his cupboard-sized bedroom with a Matt who apparently twitches all night and insists on barricading the door. Which is frankly just a really shitty situation. Pierce doesn't deserve that. The man's come into his own, started really pulling his weight in terms of taking everyone's minds off the numbing grief that comes hand in hand with knowing Earth is gone, there won't ever be any more White House all-night parties, and hookers just became an extinct breed.

 

It's not like nothing that ever happened at the White House ever left him fucking _fuming_ , because whatever Shaundi tried to tell him for the sake of their public relations, the U.N. is a bitch to deal with and shoulda been _shut down_ a long time ago. They're the _United States of America_ , who the hell else do they need on the goddamn Security Council? Though somehow none of that ever kept him up at night. Someone else's problem at the end of the day, and he'd always tell himself that if people got _really_ insolent he could sic his personal Angel-hitman on them and wave the problem a fond farewell.

 

Turns out things are different when the problem is smaller, and a lot _pettier_.

 

_Ah, he's just a kid. Don't stoop to his fucking level, Boss, it ain't worth it and you got better things to kill_ , says the Johnny voice in his head. It's promptly shoved aside by the Pierce voice, who contributes an enthusiastic, _fuck that, man! Kinzie can do anything he can do, we don't need him. Just...shove him out an airlock, we'll cover your ass if Asha comes looking._ Kinzie's voice agrees that she can take care of things, she can hack the simulation on her own, it was a mistake to rescue Miller in the first place. Shaundi growls something about being tired of pretending she doesn't notice Matt checking her ass out.

 

Ben's voice fixes him with an invisible stern look, like he's fucking disappointed or something. _What's your deal, playa? You got so many resources that you can afford to scrap this one? Compromise. Meet him on his level, get creative. That way I don't have to explain away the brutal murder of our youngest crew member when I get to writing this chapter._

 

_Fuck you, Ben,_ the Boss thinks irritably. _Did I even consent to appearing in this book? I'll shove him out an airlock if I want, and you can't do anything to stop me. It'd be really funny too. Can you imagine the look on his face when he realises?_

And it's that line of thinking that ends up putting him to sleep; his dreams are strange as fuck, the usual mix of Zin-killing, Presidential speeches given to mutated simulation audiences, and long walks on the highway with his tiger on a leash **.** There's a sunset in the background, and he notices that Tiger looks kinda hungry. They could both use a beer. Obviously they head for the spaceship kitchen, and he's standing in front of the fridge, opening it to find-

 

"Holy shit," the Boss says, sitting up abruptly. The bedroom is dark around him, and he can hear the ship's low, comforting rumble that means nothing's about to explode. All that's changed is he knows for _certain_ that he's a genius. "Matt Miller," he flops back down and announces to the ceiling. "You're gonna fucking _pay_. And I know just how."

 

Morning finds him shirtless in the kitchen, a little earlier than usual. He knows what time Matt gets up, but maybe a night with Pierce's snoring will have screwed up his sleep patterns. There's no time to lose.

 

Matt Miller is still working through that growing phase where he eats pretty much everything in sight, and starts every morning with a bare minimum of six pieces of toast. And because he's a loser with no hobbies outside of his precious (dead, whoops) NyteBlayde, he has this sort of jam fetish. They have shelves full of jars, carefully arranged by colour in the fridge with a delicacy that borders on unnerving. Matt has to have a different flavour or every slice of bread, no arguments, and boy was that a disaster the one and only time the Boss tried to make him breakfast.

He can't believe he hasn't done this before.

 

A few minutes later, Asha gets as far as the kitchen doorway before freezing in place.

"What in god's name-"

 

"Morning. Coffee'll be ready in a few minutes if you want to wait."

 

"What _are_ you doing?" She comes over to the bench, where his collection of jam jars is taking up most of the space. The Boss pulled each and every one out and lined them up so they'd still be in order. He's slowly working his way through them, but it's taking longer than expected and his wrists are starting to ache already.

"Exacting vengeance. You going to just stand there, or lend a hand?"

 

"Why, what did Matt- you know what, forget it, I don't want to know." Asha rests her hands on her hips and gives him a thoughtful look for _exactly_ five seconds before shrugging. "I suppose he _has_ been rather smug recently. Pass the orange marmalade, he's very fond of that one."

 

"Knock yourself out." He hands it over; Asha wraps jar and lid in a death-grip and _twists._

 

"You know," she says after a few minutes, when they're well over half way and things are looking _really_ promising, "given the amount of time we spend at each other's throats, this probably constitutes a bonding experience. We should make the most of it."

 

"Oh yeah? You want to...what, talk about our favourite books? Movies? Most memorable kills? _Messiest_ kills? That one might go on for a while."

 

"I have a weakness for the Bond films, I'll admit, and only because you'd probably already guessed."

 

He tightens the lid on the berry-peach jar until it refuses to go any further. "Wow, what a surprise. So who's your Bond, huh?"

 

"They all have their merits, but I'm very much attached to Sir Connery. Something about his charisma, you know?"

 

"I've always admired Daniel Craig's fine-"

 

" _Don't_ need to hear about it." Asha replaces the rhubarb jam on the bench with unnecessary force.

 

"Sure you don't." They're moving on to the darker reds and purples, weird combinations of plum and berries he's never even heard of. Where the _fuck_ Matt even found all this jam is a question the Boss isn't sure he wants answered. He probably doesn't have the attention span for it. And, you know, he doesn't really care.

 

There's a jar of cherry jam that's about half empty; must be one of Matt's favourites. The Boss puts some _real_ effort into this one, gritting his teeth and planting his feet a bit wider just to make sure. It's not until he sets the jar back down that he notices Asha's raised eyebrows.

 

"Interesting. I think I'm beginning to see why you regard shirts as optional."

 

He shrugs and reaches for the blueberry-currant flavour. "I didn't get all inked up just to hide it. You should see some of Pierce's, they're pretty, uh, memorable." She's not going to ask Pierce though, and this is nothing to do with his admittedly exemplary collection of tats. He can guess what the question'll be long before she decides it might be worth swallowing her pride to try. It's all right there in the way she eyes his shoulders and upper arms as he makes _certain_ Matt won't be getting this particular jar open unassisted.

 

"I don't suppose you-" Asha begins.

 

"Nope. Sorry to disappoint." He does make sure to smile as he says it, because he doesn't blame her for asking. He _is_ pretty fucking attractive.

 

"Ah, I suppose it's for the best. I'd have to duct tape your mouth shut anyway, and you're _really_ not worth that kind of effort.”

 

"Uh-huh. You done with that jar or are you just gonna stand there cradling it like it's your favourite Barbie?"

 

"Oh my god, you're _insufferable_! I really don't know how it is that you haven't been assassinated yet, because I'd probably do it at a discount." She tightens the jar with a force that suggests she's imagining his neck instead, and the Boss turns away to hide his grin. Maybe they'll never be best friends, but it'd be really nice not to have to tense up whenever he passes her on the ship, just in case she's decided to try her luck as leader of the Saints.

 

"People try it all the time, but it doesn't stick. Speaking of which, looks like we're done here. Good job, team."

 

"Well, I suppose we _could_ call the mission a success, unless you wanted another objective. On a scale of 'mildly irritated' to 'absolutely livid', how badly did Matt cross the line?"

 

"You got another idea, I'm all ears."

 

Asha taps the lid of a jar he didn't notice her setting aside. Looks almost empty. "The last reserve of strawberry jam aboard the ship. Matt's favourite. He's been rationing it carefully-"

 

"How many pieces of toast do you want? One? Two?"

 

"Two each should do the trick."

 

"Coming right up, ma'am."

 

They empty the jar between them and take their plates out to a stack of boxes by Asha's workout equipment.

"An excellent start to the day," Asha says approvingly, flexing her fingers before reaching for her coffee. "We should make it a regular activity, the importance of building up grip strength should not be overlooked."

 

"Pretty sure Matt would kill us both while we slept." The Boss takes a bite of his second piece of toast. He's normally more a 'beer and bacon breakfast' kind of guy, but this jam's not so bad. Shame it doesn't come in purple.

 

They're finishing up their coffees and he's just starting to think about maybe going to find a shirt when it happens. From the kitchen comes the most high-pitched scream he's ever heard (counting that time with the Morningstar specialist and the pliers, which is saying a _lot_ ).

" _What the hell have you done to my jam???_ "

 

At the Boss' side, Asha gives a serene smile. "Ah, the sweet sound of personal growth. When he finds himself captured and held in a pit for days on end without food or water, Matt will be sure to thank us for strengthening his character."

 

"He sounds like he's going to fucking _cry_."

 

"The sound of personal growth is not dissimilar to that of a spirit in the process of breaking, to the untrained ear."

 

"Huh. Yeah, I guess I'll take your word for this one."

 

" _Why won't any of them open? What did you do? Boss, is this your idea of a joke?_ " Matt howls, and the Boss salutes Asha with his empty coffee mug.

"Agent Odekar, you do excellent work."

 

"Always happy to serve, Mister President."

 

" _Oh my god you finished the strawberry flavour, I'm going to kill you!_ "

 

"Yeah, it was really good, I can see why you were saving it," the Boss calls back, voice shaking with laughter. From the kitchen comes the sound of breaking glass. "You want a hand with opening some of the other jars? I know you're kinda scrawny, it's okay to ask for help-"

 

" _I'll do it myself! I don't need anything from you, you... you utter bastard!"_

"Shot through the heart," the Boss observes to Asha. "Bets on how long until he comes begging for help? Pretty sure the rest of the crew will just stand around laughing at him. Kinzie's probably recording."

 

"An hour at the most. I'll require a full report later, I'm off to shower. Can't you find a shirt to put on?"

 

"In my capacity as President I'm declaring shirts a crime against the only country that matters. Get out of my sight, terrorist!"

 

" _Did you tighten every single lid? You really are a sociopath, aren't you?_ "

 

"Puckish rogue," the Boss mutters; it's getting to the point where he needs it printed on fucking _business cards_. "The difference being _I_ haven't tossed you out an airlock like you deserve."

 

" _Boss? You are planning to fix this, aren't you? Boss?_ "

 

_There it is_. The hint of desperation creeping in says that Matt's tried a good number of jars by now, and none of them are budging. Asha's good, and the Boss is even better. Be a shame to miss the show now, wouldn't it?

 

The Boss stands and saunters his way to the kitchen. Matt's sounding real stressed, and that's no good at all. Maybe he can provide some kind of musical accompaniment to smooth things over. And hey, if Pierce shows up they can do a nice morning duet, start the day on a high note.

 

Next time he's going to cut out pictures of Genki and glue them all over the covers of Matt's NyteBlayde comics, just to make sure any rebellion is well and truly crushed. _Don't_ fuck with the President.


End file.
